


I try to get away, and yet I stick around

by xephyr



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blow Jobs, Feelings, Hand Jobs, M/M, mentions of past mathias shaw/edwin vancleef, shaw accidentally gets fucked up over young dick, very mild intoxication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 01:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr
Summary: It's exactly like one of those sitcom episodes where the main characters get stranded somewhere and talk about their feelings, except it's a lot hornier.Shaw and Flynn are stuck in a cave for a few hours and what happens may surprise you.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	I try to get away, and yet I stick around

“Oh, lovely,” Flynn Fairwind sneers at what remains of their row boat on the rocky shore. “Real nice work, Shaw-boy. I thought this type of thing was what you did for a living.”

Shaw whirled to face him, hissing through his teeth with as much venom as he could possibly muster. “If you genuinely believe that my profession revolves around _ row boats _ and being able to predict sudden _ blood magic storms _ then I would love to hear what on Azeroth you think it is that _ you _ actually do.” 

The mission was simple enough. An unmarked and unlit galley would bring them within sight of Zandalar’s shores during the dead of night, and they would descend on their row boats and go from there. Shaw was to accompany Fairwind on an artifact retrieval in Zuldazar. Easy enough that even a bumbling ex-pirate could do it, but important enough that Shaw needed to see it firsthand. Grand Admiral Proudmoore and Taelia Fordragon were also performing what was supposed to be a joint extraction in Nazmir. _ Supposed to _ being the operative term, of course, because that’s not what ended up happening at all.

Shaw and Fairwind took to the western perimeter while Proudmoore and Fordragon went east. After that point, Shaw was hard pressed to recall anything. One minute the sea had been peaceful and in the next moment it was tossing them and their boat around as if they were no more than pieces of parchment on a windy day. It’s hard to say for certain, but Shaw suspects foul play. If the Horde can control the weather, they’re in much more trouble than they had previously bargained for.

As such, Shaw was already past his limit. He worked well under pressure and was the first to admit that he even thrived in it, but with the addition of an unruly subordinate who talked to him with way more familiarity than he had any right to questioning his every move while they were ultimately stranded in a desolate location in the middle of a torrential storm… Well, he found himself losing his patience rather fast.

Flynn wisely, for once, extricated himself from the heated conversation as smoothly as he could. “Look, mate, forget it. I’m just gonna find someplace out of the rain to sit for the night and drink m’self stupid.” And, almost as an afterthought, “If you’d like to join me, you’re free to. If you’d rather stay out here and look like an angry wet cat, well, you’re free to do that too.”

Shaw watches the other man leave and rubs at his throbbing temples, his eyes fluttering shut as he considers his options in the face of such a significant setback. Luckily for him, of course, he’s always been able to think fast.

-

“Agents will be here at dawn. Until then, captain, I advise you make yourself comfortable.”

Flynn groans loudly with a large helping of exaggeration that Shaw’s come to expect. “You’d think they’d come for us faster than that. I thought you were the fancy and important Spymaster.”

Shaw sits down on the damp and unpleasant ground, cross-legged and hunched as a counterpoint to Fairwind’s languid sprawl opposite him. “If you hadn’t noticed, there’s a storm out there. There’s not exactly a choice.”

Flynn groans again but this time he does so wordlessly. Small blessings, he supposes. His coat was already off by the time Shaw had joined him in the cave, drying on a large rock nearby. At the realization that they’ll be stuck here for the rest of the night, he pulls off his boots as well and turns them upside down, emptying out the significant amount of seawater that had gotten trapped during their tumble with the storm. He looks thoroughly soaked; his usually voluminous hair flat against his skull and the sides of his face as he relents and takes it out of his ponytail, letting that out to dry as well.

Removing his gloves and holding his palms out towards the heat of the modest fire Flynn had prepared while he was contacting his agents, he doubts he looks much better. Of course, he does have the added benefit of short and respectably cropped hair as opposed to Flynn’s mess of unruly locks. His leathers also have the added bonus of not clinging to him the way the other man’s thin linen clothes do when wet. The plainly visible lines of his chest and musculature of his arms are obscene through the white fabric of his shirt, and Shaw does his best not to look. Of course, Flynn saves him the trouble of having to imagine anything by removing that as well.

After removing the stopper of his flask with his teeth, Flynn takes a generous swig. One thing about him, at least, is that he always seemed to be prepared for any situation that could be improved with a strong drink. He offers it to Shaw and frowns at his polite refusal. “Come on mate, it won’t kill you. It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do.”

“Knowing you, this may very well kill me,” he returns easily, though he accepts it this time around with only minor hesitation. 

Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the way things were turning out for them either. The prospect of having to wait for rescue _ again _ fills him with an equal mix of apprehension and shame along with a familiar and wholly unwelcome bitter taste in his mouth. This time, at least, he could count his blessings. There were no demon lords holding him captive, and perhaps more importantly, he wasn’t alone.

Flynn guffaws over the twisted expression of disgust on Shaw’s face as he swallows his first mouthful of _ extremely potent _ ale, burning down his esophagus like nothing else.

Scratch that, actually. Maybe he’d prefer to be alone after all.

“That cannot be legal.”

Flynn shrugs as he plucks the flask from Shaw’s outstretched hand. “Depends on your definition, I s’pose. Illegal meaning that I’d get in some pretty serious trouble with your hoity toity Alliance law enforcement if they discovered it on me? Oh, absolutely.”

“The other definition of legal being…?”

Flynn winks at him before taking another healthy gulp from his cursed flask, apparently content to leave it at that.

Enough time passes between them for Shaw to remove his heavy pauldrons and lean his back up against a large rock, shifting until it’s at least marginally bearable. He’s slept in much worse places, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean he prefers avoiding it if possible.

Flynn is uncharacteristically silent as he observes him, and Shaw doesn’t doubt that the ale has fried his brain. The small amount he drank was already warming up his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, relaxing him more than he thought he might be in this situation. He couldn’t even imagine what it was doing to Flynn, no matter the size difference between them.

Eventually, however, Flynn decides that he’s no longer content with the peaceful silence. “You’ve got about fifty years on you. Surely you’ve got some stories you could tell to pass the time.”

Shaw resists the urge to roll his eyes and ignores the bait. “None that I prefer to recall, no.”

Flynn lays down on his side and props himself up on an elbow in an apparent bid to get himself more comfortable and waves Shaw off dismissively. “Come on. I know you’ve got some that would knock my socks off if I had any. My feet sure would be a lot warmer if I did, in any case.” Flynn wiggles his toes to demonstrate, frowning at them for a moment before continuing to badger him. “Tell me… I don’t know, tell me what you wanted to be as a kid. I wanted to be a rowboat, believe it or not. My mum told me I couldn’t and I cried for weeks.”

Shaw didn’t have to think about it because his answer was always the same. “I was born to do what I’m doing now. There’s never been anything else.”

Flynn directs a frown at him, this time. “That’s a bit dreary, isn’t it? Surely as a kid you had other dreams.”

“No.” Not that they would have done him any good, anyway.

Flynn scratches at his beard absently, muttering something under his breath about how it was like talking to a brick wall. Unexpectedly, a large drop of water splashes against his head from the rocky ceiling above and Flynn makes a sound of revulsion, glaring upwards at the offending hole above him as if challenging nature to try him again.

Without asking, he goes over to Shaw’s side of the cave and plops himself down next to him. “D’ you mind? There’s a leak on my end.” Without waiting for Shaw to answer one way or another, Flynn moves into the next topic of discussion. “Have you got any saucy love stories to pass on? I’m half your age, you know. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

Shaw draws the line there, and easily. “Tell me one of yours, and I’ll think about it.”

It’s easy enough to deflect the topic onto Flynn, and the ex pirate grins and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, now that’s difficult. I hardly know where to start.” He ponders over his answer for a moment, dangling his flask between his hands and Shaw grabs it, drinking down his second and probably last sip of Flynn’s poison of choice. 

The moon is still high in the sky and Shaw decides right then and there that maybe he needs to be more relaxed for this, seeing as Flynn shows no signs of tiring out as of yet. It was going to be a long night.

“Oh, there was this one lass. Gorgeously huge eyes, pretty golden boobs— no, sorry, the other way around.” This time Shaw _ does _ roll his eyes. “Anyway, she brought me by the meet the parents once or twice. I thought things were going well ‘til she told me one night that they couldn’t stand me. She was supposed to be training to become a priestess and they thought I was setting a bad example.”

“Hard to say why.”

“Right? Unbelievable. Well eventually she breaks it to me and says her parents get the final say in everything, so it was over. I was gutted, naturally, ‘til we had one last snog on the beach. I had sand in my shorts for days.”

“That was the most appalling story I’ve ever heard.” Shaw looks at him, incredulous. Flynn shrugs and smiles at him, lopsided in the way that it usually was. 

“Perhaps you’ve got a better one, then?”

“No.”

“That’s not fair. You said you would if I—“

“I said I’d think about it.” Shaw cuts him off peevishly. Flynn eventually concedes defeat and drops the subject altogether, taking his flask back. The other man is silent for a moment as he takes another long pull and Shaw almost wishes he’d say something before his mind drifts into territory he’s desperately trying to avoid.

He doesn’t. Well, not right away, at least.

“Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to tread on such a touchy subject.”

Shaw doesn’t look at him as he shrugs, unwilling to admit that he had but also not dissuading him to believe that he hadn’t.

“Younger or older?” Flynn asks softly, his earlier bravado taking a back seat as his patient and understanding side takes the helm. If Shaw was being honest, he didn’t know that he had one.

He permits himself to think about Edwin, then. “Older.”

Flynn doesn’t ask anything afterwards, and Shaw doesn’t offer him anything else.

“I get it, you know?” Flynn says quietly, and it’s so meek and unlike him that Shaw finds himself looking over at him. Flynn’s attention is fixed on his lap where he picks at his fingernails apprehensively. “I mean, maybe you think I don’t, but I’ve had a bit of a torrid affair myself. It hurts in a way you don’t really expect.”

Shaw could tell him that it wasn’t so simple, but he doesn’t. Instead, he does what he does best and listens.

“For me, it was an older bloke. Handsome as you can get, really. I wanted to be just like him, but it never really worked out that way. He was smart, for one thing, and you’ve met me.”

Shaw fixes him with a serious look, narrowing his eyes as an emotion he doesn’t quite understand bubbles up in his chest. “You’re not stupid, Fairwind.”

When Flynn turns his head to look back at him curiously, Shaw panics.

“You can be an idiot sometimes, but you’re not stupid.”

Flynn hums noncommittally, apparently unwilling to argue his point one way or another. He upends the contents of his flask into his mouth once more but once he realizes it’s empty he scowls at it. “Thought I had more.”

Shaw feels guilty for some reason and averts his gaze to the fire flickering in front of them. “Sorry.”

He’s definitely not anywhere near drunk, but he can feel his walls lowering in a way his mind outright refuses to when he’s sober. Even with being decidedly _ not drunk _ and simply pleasantly buzzed, he fails to notice that Flynn’s been boring his eyes into the side of his face for the past few minutes.

“I’m thirsty.” Flynn’s voice is suddenly a lot closer than it had been since he last spoke and Shaw turns to look at him once more and Flynn is sitting directly beside him. Shaw opens his mouth to apologize again and Flynn shakes his head softly, looking at him in an expression that he cannot decipher. “Y’ think I could have one last taste?”

Flynn leans in slowly and deliberately as if he’s trying not to scare away a frightened animal and then finally, he’s kissing him. The last person he had kissed had been Edwin. Some part of his psyche sobs at the conceived loss but he knows logically that nothing will take that from him. No one could, and no one ever will. It’s soft and sweet and Shaw lets himself be kissed for a while until Flynn pulls back, brows knit together as if he thinks he’s read the situation wrong entirely.

Once Shaw trusts himself to speak again, he does. “Think you got all of it?”

The relief on Flynn’s face is palpable as he shifts from his concerned gaze to one with a warm smile and half lidded eyes. “Not sure. Maybe I should check to see what you’re holdin’ out on me.”

Shaw responds eagerly this time as Flynn kisses him thoroughly with his tongue, licking along the backs of his teeth and anywhere else he can reach making Shaw positively shudder. Forgetting that Flynn was still shirtless, Shaw tries to grab onto the other man’s shirt and is momentarily nonplussed when his hand meets bare skin. He slides it up to his neck instead, holding him there as Fairwind’s skilled lips and tongue and teeth drag long embarrassing sounds out of him that he would later deny ever happened, but at this moment he doesn’t really care.

Fingers twist tightly in his hair in a way that makes him gasp and shoots a sharp spark of arousal directly to his dick and Flynn pounces on his positive reaction, yanking at his hair again until it’s just a shade too painful. Of course, that’s exactly what Shaw likes. It’s too much too fast and Shaw pushes him back gently but firmly as he catches his breath.

“Am I no good at that?” Flynn is equally breathless as he sits back and releases his hold on him altogether. He grins at him with a cockiness that tells Shaw that he knows _exactly_ just how good he is at this and is just waiting for him to admit it. He decides not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, he reaches down and lays a firm hand on Flynn’s very hard dick over his trousers. The smug grin is wiped from his face almost immediately as a flush spreads over his tanned sun-kissed skin and as Shaw works to unlace the front of his pants, Flynn hastens to help.

“I was thinking we might just share an innocent little kiss or two, but your idea is _much_ better.”

“If that’s your idea of innocent, it’s no wonder why that priestess’ parents thought you were a bad influence.” Once they’ve freed him from the confines of his thin trousers, Shaw gives him an experimental stroke. If he’s surprised by his sheer girth, he doesn’t let it show on his face.

Flynn groans at the first contact of skin on skin. “To be fair, they never said that. They just thought I was terrible.”

He hardly thinks about it as he shifts onto his elbows and hovers over his lap and Flynn’s dick twitches in his hand. He presses his nose into the juncture of his groin and inner thigh, inhaling his heady masculine scent deeply. Flynn makes a strangled sound above him as he shifts back onto his elbows and Shaw allows himself to gently nip at the salty skin there.

“Like I said, mate, your idea is so much better.” Anything else he was planning to say was quickly swallowed down with a groan as Shaw mouths along the underside of his length and teases his tongue across the thick vein. Once he gets an adequate feel for what he’s working with, he sucks the crown into his mouth and is almost overwhelmed at the heat radiating from the man’s cock.

One of Flynn’s hands is toying with his hair again and Shaw takes it as encouragement and swallows down even more of his length, remembering to breathe through his nose as he does. Light above, Flynn was _thick_. It’s been years since he’s done this and he can already feel his jaw beginning to ache in protest as he accommodates Flynn’s girth but ignores it in favor of wringing out more tortured sounds from the man above him.

As loud as Flynn is when he talks and boasts and laughs, he’s arguably louder when he’s not able to form a single coherent word. It sends a thrill through him as he sucks, using his hand for the remaining inches that he can’t quite manage to fit into his mouth. It doesn’t take much time at all for Flynn to become a panting and writhing mess under him and Shaw is either decidedly less rusty at this than he thought or Flynn was fantastically easy to please.

It’s a little of column A and a little of column B, he thinks.

“Oh, it’s— That’s—“ Flynn manages out eloquently between moans before he comes down Shaw’s throat without much warning. Shaw swallows what he can, working his throat as best as he can to keep himself from gagging. He’s never tasted cum that he’s particularly enjoyed, and Flynn seems to be no exception. Shaw pumps him through it nonetheless until Flynn is boneless under him, his hand gone slack in his hair.

Shaw pulls off of him and wipes his lips with the back of his hand and Flynn watches him with a dopey and sated smile. “I haven’t got anything witty to say to that, if you can believe it.”

“Can’t imagine why that would be,” He counters with a grin of his own, but it comes out fonder than he intends.

After Flynn decides he’s had enough time to recover as he needs, he pulls Shaw over to him until he’s straddled over one of his thick thighs. Shaw wants to complain about being yanked around but his resolve crumbles as soon as Flynn gets a hand on him, opting instead to cling to his shoulders. Flynn doesn’t tease him, setting a relentless pace that pulls curses from his lips and makes his toes curl in his boots.

Flynn’s breath is hot against his temple. “Show me what you got, Shaw-boy.”

It’s arguably the least erotic thing he’s ever heard in the heat of the moment which makes it that much more embarrassing when he’s ultimately sent over the edge and comes hard in his fist. Flynn kisses him as his orgasm takes him, thorough and gentle until Shaw pulls back. It’s _intimate_ in a way that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck and it’s suddenly too much for him in his post-coital haze.

If Flynn senses his shift of mood, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply watches as Shaw disentangles himself from him and moves so his back is against the rock he had been leaning on previously. Shaw takes a steadying breath as he does so, ignoring whatever look Flynn is giving him.

“You think Tae and the Grand Admiral are up to anything similar?” Flynn asks wistfully after a minute or so has passed. It’s exactly what he needs to break the strange melancholic mood that had washed over him and despite himself, Shaw snorts. 

“When I said you were an idiot, this is what I meant,” Shaw shoves at his shoulder and Flynn moves with it, letting it push him onto his side as he curls up in a laying on the floor. “We’re the only ones that were caught up in this storm. They’re fine in Nazmir.”

Flynn shifts until his back is facing towards the fire, getting as comfortable as he can on the unforgiving floor and yawning as he does. “Now that’s a right shame, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t seem to care if he gets an answer or not because in the next moment, his snores are echoing through the cave. Shaw rolls his eyes and situates himself until he’s as comfortable as like to get and shuts his eyes, deigning to allow himself no more than an hour of rest before he contacts his agents again.

He sleeps for five.

—

Aboard the Wind’s Redemption days later, he stands aside Reznik as they look across the choppy sea to the horizon.

“How old do you figure that ex-pirate is?” He asks nonchalantly enough.

“Fairwind?”

“Hm.”

The goblin thinks for a moment, digging through the vast libraries of his mind for some hidden information that he no doubt has. “He’s twenty-nine, from what I know.”

Shaw is typically very good at masking any emotion that struggles to show itself on his face but he can’t help but bite the inside of his cheek at that. “Really.”

“I’m not usually wrong.” Reznik shrugs, as it truly doesn’t matter to him at all. “What, you guys almost kill each other when you were shacked up in Vol’dun?”

He’s aware of Rezink’s sideways glance and quirks his lips downwards into an easy frown.

“Something like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got like... really invested in this crackship and this is just what my life is right now


End file.
